Daisy Bateman

Shoesday: The Return

You know how some weekends you start off just getting on a cruise ship, minding your own business, and the next thing you know you’ve spent way too much money on piña coladas and slept in so late that you were having your breakfast around the time most people would consider more appropriate for “lunch,” and watched some terrible karaoke (but not participated, because you didn’t spend that much money on piña coladas), and looked out the window at Mexico and decided not to bother, and attempted to learn the rules of football, which seems to involve something known as “downs” and also a lot of shiny pants (you’re not sure, but you suspect that the real, secret, rule is that the team with the shiniest pants wins), and ate food that was not that good, but there certainly was plenty of it, and nearly scalded yourself in a shockingly hot hot tub, and discovered that you like both saying and drinking Harvey Wallbangers, and used your jewelry case as a purse, which worked fine until it flew out of your hand in the disco, scattering earrings all over the dancefloor? And then suddenly it’s Monday, and you feel like you’re still on a boat, though available evidence would indicate otherwise? And you realize the fact that you have not done anything remotely productive for the last four days, short of scribbling some notes for a blog post on a piece of stationary, which you really should dig up, because you’re pretty sure they were brilliant?

What I’m saying is, these are not the times to confront the fact that at some point in the past you have purchased pink suede kitten heels. You know how it is.

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